• Published 11th Jul 2015
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Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam - Daniel-Gleebits



Sunset Shimmer and Sonata Dusk live happily together, bonded by experience and united in love. But an unexpected visit from the Equestrian Discord, and a mysterious journal entry from Twilight Sparkle send them on a journey back to Equestria

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The Exhausting Life of an Equestrian Monarch

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza


The late afternoon sunlight poured through the high windows, casting coloured shafts so sharply that they might have seemed to the casual eye to be tangible features of the room. The great white walls shone with the gleam of daily maintenance, and the telling lines where new wall had been added to the more ancient parts of the castle had all but worn away over the past sixty years.

Great doors opened. The corridor filled momentarily with the buzzing of many voices. The doors closed. Silence.

Then Princess Cadance stepped wearily forward, breathing a heavy and heartfelt sigh. As usual, she’d insisted that the guards need not accompany her to her apartments. The reason, as usual, was not the one of amused impatience that she always gave to her diligent and well-meaning guards, but because she did not want anypony to see the collapse of her facade. No sooner had she determined that she was alone, her entire body seemed to sag, as though the years that her nigh-immortality denied her had suddenly caught up and dragged her down. Faint lines etched themselves into the smoothness of her beautiful pink face, a tentativeness in her walk made it clear that her legs pained her, and the firm light of attentiveness in her eyes dimmed into a blur of tiredness.

The Council of Representatives typically meant well, Cadance knew, but their concern for their own corners of the world over the greater good was taxing Equestria of its greatest strength: its unity. For centuries the nation of Equestria had stood united under the banner of the Royal Sisters, even during Princess Luna’s absence. With both of them gone, the political scene changed rapidly, deteriorating almost to anarchy. Even Cadance’s reluctant ascendancy had almost brought the country to the brink.

Cadance’s mind ground through the same-old tired rhetoric from all those years ago as she plodded down the seemingly endless hall of stained-glass windows. Lawfully, Cadance had the authority to rule Equestria, as a legitimately recognised princess of Equestria. Unfortunately, stemming from a lack of precedence, there was no official legal details as to the right of succession should either Princess Celestia or Luna be permanently incapacitated. The right to rule by a tertiary princess had always been held as inherently temporary, with permanent or extended rule having to be given by official written or verbal notice by one or more of the royal pony sisters. Extended rule without such a mandate had never been heard of before.

In short, Cadance’s rule was not, strictly speaking, legitimate, over the entirety of Equestria. She had legal sovereignty only over the Crystal Empire as a descendant of its ruling dynasty. Equestria as a whole on the other hand...

As such, a compromise had been established. Cadance’s rule would be treated as an extended, provisional stewardship, overseen and checked by a High Council. The High Council as it stood was composed of two houses, one representing the various cities and provinces of Equestria that made up the Council of Representatives, and the second that of the Canterlot nobility, who nominally ran the central bureaucracy, and made up the Central Sixty. Things had declined naturally ever since.

Oh sure, it had gone well at first. At first the ponies were united by their mutual concern for Princess Celestia and their anxiety over the invading forces of Roam. But then Roam had withdrawn, an armistice had been signed. And Princess Celestia had not been returned to them. Roam refused to return her, and diplomatic channels were cut as Roam plunged itself into civil war.

And then the real trouble had arisen. Having been away from Canterlot at the time, Princess Luna was later revealed to have been rendering assistance to the changelings. She had invited the mass of their population across the Equestrian border to escape persecution in the Badlands, and had been suing for terms when the surprise assault on Canterlot had left the capital devastated, and Princess Celestia captured.

Word had spread from there. Rumours abounded, exacerbated by the commonly held belief that the changelings had been responsible for the plague that had spread across the southern border, and which had only been halted when Discord gave up his physical form. Cadance looked instinctively at this point out of the nearest window into the gardens, where Discord’s statue stood proudly at the centre of Princess Celestia’s finest arrangements. On Cadance’s order it had been preserved that way for more than sixty years; a monument to the unexpected sacrifice from the least expected person to act. And because she knew that it was what her aunt would have wanted...

Of course, these rumours put the black mark to Luna’s name, at least in the uninfected regions of Equestria. Coinciding with the legend of Nightmare Moon, Luna’s name had been dragged through the mud, sowing fear and dissension amongst the Equestrian laity. The inhabitants of the so-called Nightlands – ponies and changelings alike – loved Princess Luna. She watched over them when everypony else had forsaken them, provided comfort and guidance to them, standing beside them in their long, dark eternity. Cadance sometimes wondered if her aunt had done so out of duty to ponies that she knew were still her citizens, or out of a sense of kinship with a people so misunderstood and maligned. Or perhaps both.

Cadance shook herself from these gloomy reflections when she suddenly smelt the scent of cooking food, and realised that she had inadvertently overshot her destination. Backtracking away from the kitchens, she ascended the marble stairs with leaden steps, and trudged wearily to her bed chamber.

As she had hoped, Shining Armour sat waiting for her. Unlike Cadance, whose immortality had preserved her appearance in its prime, the nature of their bond merely preserved Shining Armour beyond his usual years, leaving his appearance to age substantially slower than other ponies. She had to admit that he looked good for somepony who was ninety three and not a princess. His blue hair had emboldened into a darker tone with several small streaks of grey in front of his ears, and on the closely shaved beard on his square chin. His white coat and cutie mark were as sharp as ever they had been, with his physique perhaps a little thicker than in his earlier years. Nonetheless, he met his wife’s entrance with the same softening of his stern expression as he always did.

He’s such a nerd at heart. Cadance thought, fondly, kissing him.

“I was about to come break up the meeting,” Shining chuckled.

“It did seem to drag on forever,” Cadance said, yawning.

“You need a nap before anything else,” Shining ordered, gesturing to the bed. “Go on. No pony will disturb you until your next engagement.”

“I only ever had one engagement,” Cadance mumbled, smirking. “And that was to you.”

“That joke never gets old, dear,” Shining said patronisingly, holding the sheets back for Cadance to get in. “Try to enjoy your nap. The Roaman ambassador will want to see you well rested.”

“Oh, that’s today?” Cadance asked as she settled gratefully into the bed. “Are you sure? I could have sworn...” she yawned again. “Could have sworn it was the Saddle Arabians today.”

“That’s not for another two weeks,” Shining said kindly. “It’ll come back to you when you wake up.”

“Could you entertain him while I sleep, Shining?” Cadance asked. “I don’t like leaving him to himself.”

“Common courtesy dictates that I offer him my hoof at backgammon at least,” Shining smiled. “I’ll keep him entertained. I’ll have the guard wake you up when it’s time.”


Cadance appreciated her husband’s support and helpfulness, but in these troubled times, even he didn’t agree with her on everything. And she couldn’t expect him to. Some injuries run too deep for the healing.

Cadance had long adapted to the necessity of her daily naps. She slept usually no more than three hours a night – less if Shining Armour was in the mood – and in her early reign it had shown on her face. Now, she was able to rise practically wide awake and refreshed, with only the most minute amount of personal sprucing to make her face and mane follow suit.

“Thank you,” she said to the guard as he knocked and entered. “I’m already up. If the ambassador is waiting, please inform him that I’ll be there momentarily.”

The guard inclined his head and retreated.

Five minutes later, Cadance stood in front of a set of large double-doors. The shining depictions of stylised pegasi that emblazoned the doors seemed to take flight as the doors swung forward away from her, a strange optical illusion that Cadance had come to appreciate since taking up residence in the castle. She saw her aunt’s style and sense of wonder in everything here. And more minutely, her understanding of the need for some tempered grandiosity. It reminded certain visitors with whom they were dealing.

The room opened to a magnificent and largely proportioned hall. It was clearly meant to seat as many as about fifty individuals given the length of the table at its centre, but currently was being occupied by only four ponies. Two guards stood either side of the door inside, with Shining Armour sitting away from the door, playing chess with a familiar individual as his opponent.

Domitian, second son of Princeps Vespegasus, looked up from his game with a tired smile. “Ahh,” he said pleasantly. “Princess. A pleasure as always,” he said graciously, standing up. “Please, save me; I believe your husband is about to embarrass me again.”

“Please, don’t get up on my account,” Cadance replied with high good humour. “I take it that chess still isn’t your game?”

Domitian laughed. “I do better in games of chance. I’m afraid that strategy eludes me.” He gestured to the board, where Cadance could see that he was being soundly beaten. His king stood precariously between a knight and Shining Armour’s queen, each poised to strike. On the other hand, Cadance knew that the ambassador was being a little overtly modest; the strategy of chess might well be beyond him, but political strategy was something he was no stranger to.

“Checkmate,” Shining Armour said with finality, shifting a bishop four spaces.

The ambassador did a small double-take and looked quickly over the board carefully. Apparently unable to find a way around his loss, he gave a small sigh, and knocked over his king.

“Spirits, my lord,” Domitian chuckled. “I will defeat you one day. Or perhaps I shall engage my brother to battle with you instead. He does better at these sorts of military games.”

“On the board, tell him that I’ll accept that challenge any time,” Shining Armour said, a slight edge to his voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee the changing of the guard. Ambassador.”

Inclining his head respectfully, he gave Cadance a subtle wink and left the room, the double doors swinging shut behind him with a booming finality. Cadance turned to look the ambassador full on.

The first thing that Cadence always noticed about the ambassador was his eyes. The Roaman trait of dark rings reminiscent of mascara, and the pointed, angular face, could not detract from the icy grey orbs staring at her. They formed a striking contrast with his personality, which – whether from being a diplomat or simply his disposition – was polite and accommodating. It was always startling whenever he smiled or laughed to see the steel-coloured glint of them flash at her. She had never known quite what to make of it. She had met his brother, the general in charge of the Badlands occupation legion, several times before at important functions. His eyes were the same as his brothers’, but better suited his abrupt and sharp personality; the product of being a soldier, Cadance had always assumed, since despite his bluntness, he had always been more-or-less polite.

The ambassador wore the traditional toga of his homeland: a long, white length of good quality fabric with an intricate line of purple pattern denoting his rank amongst the elite. His dark blue mane was cut short, his tail sliced short at an angle, and tied at the base. Unlike most ponies, he wore a set of plain steel horseshoes inlayed with a matching pair of purple stones that matched his toga. On his chest rested the imperial seal of Roam, glinting faintly in the afternoon light filtering down from the ceiling windows. Taken in conjunction with what Cadance knew about the Roaman’s disdain for royalty, this reserved yet bold appearance, she knew, was meant to put across the severity of Roaman culture, whilst subtly highlighting its power, wealth, and status. She always supposed it must be difficult to balance the two.

“How is Canterlot treating you, ambassador?” Cadance asked, seating herself in Shining Armour’s unoccupied chair. “I’m afraid that I never did ask how your accomadations were.”

“It’s a marvellous city,” Domitian said approvingly, nodding. “Even in such desperate times, the citizens are remarkably hospitable and helpful. One tends to find in the Republic that larger cities are often plagued with, shall we say, the more inimical members of our society.”

“I should take you on a tour of Baltimare at some point, ambassador,” Cadance said with a tremble of laughter in her voice. “I assure you, you’ll see all of the inimical aspects of Equestrian society there.”

“That sounds exciting,” Domitian said, sitting back and laughing at the joke. “Perhaps another time. As it happens,” he said in a more hesitant voice, “I have some rather dire news for you.”

Cadance’s face fell a little here. The ambassador’s tone had become somewhat hesitant. “Regarding what?” she asked, trying to keep her face devoid of discomposure.

“In regards to my counterpart,” Domitian said tentatively. “I just received the news today. It seems that she has gone missing.”

“Missing?” Cadance asked, feeling her insides plummeting. She arched her back a little so as to draw attention away from her tensed muscles. “I’m sorry, but could you clarify what you mean?”

The ambassador looked troubled. “I’m afraid I can’t give you much information about the situation. I was merely informed that Ambassador Song Bright did not appear at the imperial palace five days ago, and that subsequent attempts to locate her have been unsuccessful. Her disappearance is being treated as a potential kidnapping I believe.”

Perhaps Cadance’s silence made the ambassador believe she that wasn’t taking the news well. She wasn’t taking the news well. But it was not prudent to allow the ambassador to know this.

“I’m sorry if the news is at all distressing,” Domitian said in a solicitous tone. He reached a hoof forward as though to lay it on her own. “I’m sure that there is a reasonable—“

“I thank you for your concern,” Cadance interrupted, forcing a trill of false complacency into her voice. “I have the utmost confidence in my daughter’s abilities should her disappearance prove to stem from malevolent intentions from this party or that. However I feel I must also apologise for her neglect should it transpire that her absence is due in part from her own actions. She can allow her passions to overcome her sense of propriety upon occasion. In particular, where she personally feels it necessary. Her actions should this transpire to be the case would not reflect the interests of Equestria.”

The ambassador retracted his hoof. As usual, Cadance found it difficult to pin the exact emotion that the ambassador’s face was conveying, since the steely eyes always combined to confuse the rest of its features. His face twitched as though he was trying not to smile; Cadance almost thought that he was impressed. Taken with the eyes however, he merely looked contemptuous, as though what she had said was cute.

All of this occurred in the space of a second, since the ambassador arranged his face back into a look of benign good humour before going on.

“I certainly hope that it is simply a misunderstanding. With all of the Mare Vasteum between us, communications aren’t always terribly up-to-date on these sorts of hour-by-hour issues. It may be that she has already found her way back as we speak.”

“Indeed,” Cadance said, smiling tightly. “But I think that we were meeting to speak about the no-pony’s land agreement.”

“Ah, quite,” the ambassador said quickly, eagerly seizing upon the subject. “Yes, I have some fresh proposals from the capital regarding the hopefully amiable return of the Land of Friendship to Equestrian sovereignty. I shall be happy to go over the proposals with you now if you wish.”

With a sinking feeling in her heart to join the leaden weight in her gut, Cadance braced herself for a series of overreaching demands and unreasonable caveats. She sat back as languidly as she could, deciding privately whilst the ambassador talked what the most diplomatic way to say “No,” would be.


Cadance was dimly aware that almost all of her meetings, assemblies, and other functions ended invariably the same. With her stumbling out of whatever room it had been, alone, weighed down by yet more pain and responsibility. It genuinely hurt to see the various representatives of Equestria bicker together over the most trivial of notions, and be unable to do anything to appease them. It had not been like this in bygone days, when the word of a princess could have the singular and final effect of settling any dispute, and perhaps keep it settled should the judgment be sound.

Now however, there was too much discord. Too much mistrust. And Discord wasn’t even around to enjoy it. Many still listened to her, but the disappearance of Celestia and the perceived betrayal by Luna had jarred the minds of their subjects. And with Twilight taken by the plague as well... so much fell upon Cadance.

Now the news of her only daughter having gone missing in a foreign land...

“What’s the matter?” Shining Armour exclaimed as Cadance entered their chambers. “Cadance, what is it? Tell me.”

Seated on the bed, and in between long pauses as she tried to assemble her words from the sea of scattered thoughts, Cadance proceeded to explain to Shining Armour what the ambassador had told her about their daughter. Her husband’s face seemed to turn grey with horror at the revelation, the streaks in his mane and beard become more noticeable.

“There’s no need to panic yet,” he said eventually, apparently realising that it was up to him to be the voice of calm and reason. “It’s like he said; we don’t know what’s happened. We’ll probably get a message in a few days about her getting lost during an evening party. You know Song Bright can’t resist—“

“Please stop, Shining,” Cadance breathed. “I appreciate it, I honestly do. But right now,” her voice broke. “How did all of this happen? What in the world has happened to us? To everything?”

Shining Armour’s mouth thinned. He seated himself on the bed next to her, and taking off his greaves, began stroking her hair. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’ve been wondering that these passed sixty years, ever since Roam crossed the ocean. But we’ve lasted this long, haven’t we? We’ve held out.”

“But our daughter...” Cadance sobbed.

Shining Armour didn’t reply for a short while. If Cadance had been in a right state to look up at his face, she might have been hard pressed to judge whether he was troubled or thoughtful. He bit his lip, looked from here to there, and blinked a few times, as though dealing with some painful internal struggle.

“If I were the sort of pony to suggest such a thing,” he said slowly, as though measuring his words. “I might say that we could... I don’t know. Pull a favour?”

Cadance lifted her head from the bed, her tear-stained face turning slowly up to him. “What do you mean?” she asked thickly.

“Well...” Shining Armour went on, screwing up his face a little as he apparently fought to make the words slip between his teeth. “If we had a particular friend that we could ask help from. Someone who could slip into Roam and find out the truth.”

Cadance thought about this for a moment until it struck her what Shining Armour was getting at.

“We can’t ask that of them, Shining,” she said quietly. “The risk would be too great. You know what the Roamans do to spies. And especially to changelings. If a drone was caught on Roaman soil... she’ll never agree to it.”

“We need help,” Shining Armour muttered, as though the words were hard to get out.

“I know, my love,” Cadance murmured back, nuzzling into his cheek. “We’ll have to hold out for information by the usual channel.”

“To be frank, I’m kinda glad that the ambassador is such a relatable pony. Do you think that he’ll tell us if he gets word?”

“I don’t see why not. There’s nothing he could gain from withholding information on Song Bright.” She drew a deep breath and stretched. “Thanks for staying with me. I just...”

“I know,” Shining Armour said in hushed tones. “Believe me, I know.”

“Oh,” Cadance said suddenly, eager to change the subject. “Did you find out where Lance Alot disappeared to?”

“No,” Shining Armour replied with another sigh. “To be honest I’m starting to get worried. I thought at first he was just dossing off the job, but nopony has seen him in days.”

“You’re searching for him, aren’t you?” Cadance asked, frowning. “I mean, a royal guard going missing... we don’t need more gossip.”

“I’m keeping it discreet,” Shining Armour said, rubbing is temple a little. “But yes, I have ponies looking for him.”

“I’d best do my make-up before getting to the open court sessions. I still need to look the part.”

“You are the part,” Shining Armour said firmly. “I still don’t know why you don’t let Powder Brush do your make-up anymore.”

“I’ve told you,” Cadance sighed in mild exasperation, having explained this point several times before. “I don’t want ponies to know how much this is getting to me. They need hope; I can’t let them down by seeing me less than ready.” She looked down grimly at a small ornamental box of various colouring agents. “They don’t deserve that.”

“You’re doing great at it,” Shining Armour said robustly, stepping up behind her. “Ruling, I mean. Princess Celestia never had to deal with a situation like this.”

“I sometimes wonder how she managed to do this for so long. She was doing this, alone, for a thousand years.”

“A thousand years of relative peace and harmony,” Shining Armour reminded her. “There was the odd problem, I won’t deny that. But I think even she would admit that she never had to deal with a divided country and a foreign power on Equestria’s doorstep.”

“We’ve been at peace with Roam for decades now.”

“Call it a soldier’s instinct,” Shining Armour said darkly. “Maybe it is just a ‘garrison army’,” he went on, sketching quotes in the air. “But it’s still an army, and a better one than ours.”

“Shining—“

“Face facts, Cadance,” her husband interrupted a little tersely. “One-to-one, the Roamans have us beat. War is their home field. I remember my captain once told me ‘Equestrians, kid; we’re a peculiarly unmilitary kind’a ponies’.” He took a brief moment to give a reminiscent half-smile. “And he was right. Don’t get me wrong, we’re nothing to sneeze at, but up against Roam...” he let the sentence hang, shaking his head.

Deep down Cadance knew that he was right. The Roamans had proven 60 years ago that had their own internal turmoil not halted them, they would have conquered Equestria virtually unopposed. The Equestrian military comprised a sizeable royal guard corps., with a supplementary force in the Crystal Empire and other regions. But they were not proper field soldiers. Honour guard and police forces better described the military capabilities of Equestria prior to the Roaman invasion. And even now with a formal military force of its own, Equestria was still a beginner when it came to the art of professional warfare. But there was no reason to be concerned right now. Equestria and Roam were at peace, with ongoing negotiations for settling a permanent relationship. Everything was slowly inching towards stability; she simply had to last until it got there. If she could last that long...

She was jarred from these depressing thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Shining Armour was leaving.

“Where are you going?” Cadance asked, perturbed.

Shining Armour did not immediately respond. He seemed to be listening to somepony at the door. With an altogether sober expression directed at Cadance, he invited whoever it was inside. A guard in shining golden armour stepped over the threshold, the usual look of single-minded austerity plastered across her face. Behind her, Shining Armour closed the door and, with a flash of his horn, set a spell over the door. This made Cadance stand up from her dressing table.

Shining Armour took one last furtive look at the door. “Speaking of things we can’t let Equestria know about,” he said with grim humour, directing a narrow look at the guard.

The guard saluted, and then with a quiet whoosh and a flash of emerald light, it disappeared, leaving a prim-looking changeling in its place. The creatures bright blue eyes fixed themselves upon Cadance before it bowed low.

“Princess Cadance of Equestria and the Crystal Empire,” it said formally. Its voice was oddly soft and quiet for such an insectoid-looking creature, which used to take Cadance by surprise. “I have brought news that the Over-Queen, She who graces us with protection and love, considers it essential for you to know.”

Cadance blinked rapidly for a moment. “Essential?” she repeated wonderingly. Then she too looked at the door. Then at the windows; curtains closed. She gestured the changeling up and over to a seat-cushion, which the changeling gratefully sat upon. Seating herself opposite, Cadance gave the changeling her full, and undivided attention.

“Very well. What is it you wish to tell me?”


- To be Continued